


Hunting With A Side Of Chick Flick

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Third Wheel Sam Winchester, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, as always, poor sammy, remember the time Chuck brought Cas back but with some new additions? because I sure do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: He hesitates, rocks back half an inch when he feels the heat of an exhaled breath on his lips.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 120





	Hunting With A Side Of Chick Flick

It happens when it’s least expected.

They’re loitering together in a dreary alleyway, darkness of the night just barely lit by the giant red neon sign of the bar. At least it’s not cold, but it _is_ raining, which doesn’t help. Drizzling, really. A damp mist descending from the clouds, tiny drops of precipitation collecting in hair and glittering on eyelashes.

Dean idly taps his fingers against his thigh. He’s not impatient, more… restless. As usual, he’d thrown scissors to Sam’s rock and had sealed his fate of waiting outside in the rain, while Sam entered the bar to "encourage" the single demon they’re hunting to join them in the alley.

The presence at his side is both reassuring and unnerving, too _present_ to ignore. It’s a heavy constant, electric, and Dean is left painfully aware.

He glances over and meets deep royal blue. They glitter even in tainted crimson light, bright as they regard Dean with endless patience and wonder, learning him. Dean still finds himself questioning exactly what those eyes see when he’s within their sights.

Without his explicit order or permission, he’s moving to close the space between them, until Dean’s standing with one boot slotted between a pair of black dress shoes. He can feel the smooth fabric of a long coat brushing against his knuckles, so fragile and thin compared to the leather shrouding his own shoulders.

This has been something that had been waiting to happen for quite some time, he realizes. Only now — when his eyes are trained on perpetually chapped, full pink lips — does it hit him. How often had those thoughts been shoved away before they’d had the chance to solidify? Just how often had they been denied?

_C’mon man, no girly thoughts._

And he wants. He’s been wanting.

Fear, once had given him pause, no longer seems to be such a relevant excuse. He could die tomorrow. Hell, he could die in a few minutes. Might as well live this wretched life to the fullest, right?

So Dean leans in, focused and unblinking like he’d been hypnotized. He hesitates, rocks back half an inch when he feels the heat of an exhaled breath on his lips.

The steadfast loyalty is what does it for Dean; no pressure forcing him to move, allowing him to take the time he needs, even step away and renew the distance. Unmoving, simply waiting. The knowledge of being able to back out and pretend it never happened, is exactly what gives him the tiny push he wanted.

It’s cautious, light, the softest press of lips. A split second passes and then there’s a response, gently pushing back. Dean steps forward, backs a willing and yielding body into the brick wall.

The mouth against Dean’s falls open with a faint breathy sigh; it’s pure unfiltered contentment with a hint of relief, a sound much like finally arriving home after a long day. Regarding it as a good sign, Dean shifts even closer, allowing his lips to part.

A hard exhale is all the warning Dean gets before a firm hand slides into the hair at the nape of his neck and Castiel’s tongue is in his mouth. Castiel kisses with the desperation someone drowning, inexperienced but very much willing to make up for it with energy and enthusiasm, trying to inhale Dean like the air he didn’t particularly need to breathe.

Dean makes a muffled sound of surprise but doesn’t engage. He coaxes Castiel down, away from the frantic and sloppy and dirty porno kissing to something more languid, careful and timeless, his hand rising to caress Castiel’s cheek. Castiel’s rhythm falters for a moment as he adjusts but he’s a quick study, adapting rapidly to gently _loving_ kisses that punch the air from Dean’s lungs.

Each time Dean pulled away to gasp for breath — resting their foreheads together as he pants in the narrow heated space between their faces — Castiel has to physically hold himself back from chasing after Dean’s lips like they’re connected by an invisible string, unconsciously leaning forward a few millimeters before he catches on. Dean is no better; every time, he only lets himself have barely two half breaths before he’s back to kissing Castiel again, air seemingly only of secondary importance compared with Castiel.

As a result, Dean has no choice but to take an extended break after a handful of minutes, inhaling deeply in an attempt to remedy how light headed he’s become. Even with the predicament, Dean doesn’t rest. He’s far too stubborn for that, and it seems a dam had broken in him; once he’d started kissing Castiel, he couldn’t get himself to stop.

Castiel’s fingers tighten weakly where they’re buried in Dean’s hair as Dean happily goes to work trying to taste every inch of Castiel’s skin. Dean presses open mouthed kisses to the corner of kiss swollen lips and up the strong edge of Castiel’s jaw, gradually becoming more deliberate in his actions as he finally catches his breath. He nips teasingly at the sensitive skin behind Castiel’s ear, smiles when he’s rewarded with a low involuntary sound caught between a gasp and a groan.

 _“Dean,”_ Castiel rumbles, tipping his head back to rest against the wall and bare more of his neck.

Dean’s answering groan is torn from him against his will. The way Castiel had drawn out his name… There’s no other way to categorize it— that had been a moan, clear and simple. Never had Dean’s name sounded so _obscene._

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, breathless once again.

The hand in Dean’s hair slides to the back of his head, strong fingers insistently nudging him towards Castiel. He obliges easily, helpless in the face of Castiel’s — and undeniably, his own — heady desire to remain locked together at the lips.

They get as close as possible without climbing into each other’s bodies, exchanging soft unhurried kisses. Dean presses Castiel against the wall, thumb stroking tenderly along his cheekbone. Castiel arches up against Dean, free hand clutching a fistful of the back of Dean’s jacket.

A pleased note is hummed into Dean’s mouth and he echoes the sound right back, smiles curving both his and Castiel’s lips. It’s sappy and cliche, having a first kiss in the rain at night, but it’s also sweet and perfect and Dean wouldn’t have it any other way. Life might not be all sunshine and rainbows — and it most certainly isn’t a chick flick — but moments like this make it all worth it.

Their achieved peace doesn’t last long. All too soon, the front door of the bar bangs open and a pair of running footsteps approach the alley.

“Dean,” Sam yelps.

_Oh yeah, the demon._

Dean reaches for the demon knife and twists around, but Castiel grabs the front of his jacket and hauls him back.

“Cas—”

Castiel glares over Dean’s shoulder, raising a hand. And snaps.

A body drops heavily to the wet floor.

Sam’s footsteps slow to a sharp halt as he gasps. “Whoa.”

“You just— How’d you just—”

“Seraph,” Castiel mutters, and doesn't offer any more explanation.

“Ah,” Dean breathes, not understanding at all but not caring. He’s far too busy kissing the mildly irritated expression from Castiel’s face.

“Dude, seriously— Hey—?” Sam sighs. “Okay, I guess I’ll just… wait in the car…”


End file.
